Dovahkiin of Berk
by baynard
Summary: As Berk struggles to survive in their unending war against the dragons, a mysterious stranger lands amongst their midst who might prove to either be their savior or downfall. Astrid Hofferson finds herself inexplicably drawn to this man and the problems he brings to their isolated island village. Will Berk rise, or will it perish like so many other tribes before them?
1. Chapter 1

"My friend, is this the path you truly wish to take?"

Jarl Balgruff was a gruff man not prone to emotions, but even he for once managed to sound a little sad as he questioned the young man standing before him on the northernmost shores of Skyrim that led to the vast ice laden sea that few dared sail.

Friend was not a word the Jarl of Whiterun used lightly, but if anyone had earned it, Jarel the Wanderer deserved that title. A no name peasant caught up in the events between warring nations churned out a hero few would associate with the young lad that had stumbled into Whiterun's Keep two years ago. But every hero started somewhere, and rare were the ones who came from wealthy homes and prestigious bloodlines.

Jarel had vanquished the dragon problems that had plagued their wintry isles, freed Skyrim by helping force the Imperial occupiers out of their snowbound lands when he had joined the war effort, and earned the admiration of any true Nord.

But perhaps that sudden reputation was what had driven the young man's sudden decision to seek his fortune's elsewhere. Having lived a simple life before all this, Jarel was unused to the fame and recognition that came with his deeds. Some men spent their lives futilely chasing deeds that would have their names sung around every tavern hearth, but not the most famous man in Skyrim ironically.

"It was a journey I meant to take for many years, but I never had the chance nor the means."

Soft were the dragonborn's reply, a habit he had picked up after he attained the voice of dragons. Even the slightest of emotions could turn simple words into unfathomable power when spoken by one who possessed the gift of dragon song in their veins.

The Greybeards spent a life in solitude to master control over their voices, and even they were bound to vows of silence despite a lifetime of experience. The fact the lad could speak normally at all was a miracle that could only be attributed to a natural aptitude for mastering a dragon's power.

"There is not much further north of here lad, what is it you hope to find?" asked Jarel curiously.

Skyrim was the furthest north of any civilization recognized by the empire, only wild tribes and the odd hermit dared live beyond the icy realm of the Nords. There were no official maps of the ice bound lands further than Skyrim, the few who dared navigate those treacherous waters did so from experience and a willingness to trust their fates to the whim of the gods.

Green eyes looked up at the older man, a serene gaze that the Jarl knew could harden and burn with the madness of battle rage in but an exhaled breath. The young man sometimes seemed to exhibit two separate personalities, the quiet, shy unassuming lad who often looked awkward in the heavy eldritch armor he wore. But when necessary, it was impossible to mistake him for anything but the deadly dragonborn warrior the Norse had been singing songs about for centuries.

Though not a large man by comparison to most Northerners, Jarel had a gaze and presence that made him seem almost larger than life. More than one fight had been quelled simply by a flare from those savage gold tinted eyes. Even the bravest of men were simply animals that had learned to speak and dress in clothes, and an animal always knew when it was in the presence of a predator greater than itself.

"I never told anyone this, but I am not from these lands," Jarel said with a frown.

"Well you certainly seem to share more Imperial features than Norse," commented Balgruff with a laugh.

And indeed Jarel did, with his slightly shorter height, wiry frame and dull brown hair; he was hardly what most expected when picturing the hero of the Norseman who had freed Skyrim from the clutches of tyranny.

"Aye, that be true," chuckled Jarel. "My mother, the woman who raised me always told me that she had found me as a babe, wrapped up in a shawl in the woods near a dead dragon. She kept the shawl and showed it to me when I was older. There were symbols, perhaps words. All with no meaning I could ever decipher, but doubtless originating from my homelands."

"So you will journey into the unknown to find people that might understand them?" questioned the Jarl.

It seemed a foolhardy quest, but then again the lad had done the impossible before. If anyone could pull it off, perhaps it might be Jarel.

"No, that would be stupid at best," laughed the warrior, unknowingly echoing his friend's earlier unspoken thought. "Nay, I spoke with a trader by the name of Johann, a sailor of the northern waters who recognizes the text. I already have a heading, perhaps half a month's journey if the waters prove tame."

"And what will you do when you arrive at your homeland?" Balgruff asked curiously.

"I will see if I might still have family. The trader told me that it is not a large society further north, small tribes and villages. Surely someone will remember tales of a babe lost to a dragon in decades past."

The Jarl nodded and reached out a hand which the young man immediately clasped without hesitation. Decades spanned between the two men, but theirs was a friendship forged in the fires of war, a bond only warriors who had shed blood side by side could achieve.

"May the gods watch over you in your journey my young friend. Know that Whiterun will always welcome its hero no matter how much time has passed, and my hearth will always have a seat for you or any of your kin."

With that, the older man stepped back to his entourage of bodyguards, allowing others to step forward and say what could be their final goodbyes.

Jarel could feel his arms going numb from the amount of forearms he had clasped, but the smile on his face was genuine. Growing up as a simple farm boy who had cut wood for extra coin and hunted to help supplement his family's stores of food, he had never dreamed that one day he would stand up to the oldest dragon in the world and help turn the tides of battle against an empire that spanned half the known world.

Yet here he was, saying goodbye to the many friends and comrades he had never thought he would have had as a simple farmer. Fate had a strange way of turning aside the plans of simple men, most ending in tragedy. Jarel counted himself to be the lucky few who had stumbled into a life greater than expected, even if he hadn't been entirely willing at the beginning.

Finally, only one remained, his dark haired housecarl that had been more than just a companion to him. His heart ached as he took in the downtrodden form of Lydia, the woman who had had his back throughout all his journeys in Skyrim. Almost a decade his elder, she had at first been a bodyguard, then become a confident and close friend with time and finally in the last moments before war broke out, his lover.

Neither regretted their brief intimacy, but both knew deep down that their paths would lead them elsewhere. They had enjoyed what little time they had together, their burning passion perhaps driven by the knowledge that it could not be forever.

"Watch yourself out their Jarel, I won't be there to guard your back anymore," teased Lydia with a sad smile. "You never were very good at keeping awareness when the battles got too large farm boy."

The young hero reciprocated with a tired smile of his own. "You could come with me Lydia, plenty of space on my ship for both of us."

"Plenty of room in the cabin bunk too I wager," the dark haired woman laughed with a twinkle in her eye.

Jarel could not help but blush. Yes, the thought had crossed his mind. A month long journey at sea with no one to disturb them and plenty of time to explore the more carnal needs of the body. What red blooded male could avoid such fantasies?

"But my loyalty was sworn to Balgruff and Whiterun," she continued sadly. "My honor holds me here."

"Aye, that I know," Jarel acknowledged solemnly.

She reached her hand forward, forgoing the kiss that they had come to share as greeting and farewell. A heavy melancholy pulled at Jarel's heart as he clasped her forearm. A part of him had hoped that she might come with him, that they might continue their journey together. But such was life, paths came together and paths parted. Lydia knew the road she walked; he was still searching for his.

"Come back some day," she said as she turned away to hide the unshed tears that had sprung in her eyes. "Come back and bring me tales of lands far away."

"Aye, that I will," he promised halfheartedly.

They both knew that promise was unlikely to be fulfilled, but there was nothing more that could be said.

With that, the last of the Norseman left their hero alone to his final preparations. They would not stay past the farewell, for superstitious belief said that a ship that left berth with friends and family watching was one doomed never to return.

And so Jarel's new journey began, alone on a single small ship stocked with enough provisions to last a long lonely journey and crudely hand drawn chart that promised him answers. Leaving behind title and fame, the young man braved the unknown waters to seek his past further north, unknowing that his fortunes were once more about to turn.

For the people of Skyrim, so ended the tale of the mighty Dovahkiin, a hero of the commoners who stood up in their time of need and stepped down when his duty was fulfilled. In time his story would become murky with retelling as all legends were destined to be lost to the mists of time, the handful who personally knew him passing on to Sovngarde wondering if they would meet him there.

Yet the story of Jarel the Wanderer had only begun. The saga of his early years in Skyrim was the first chapter in a long book that would one day span the breadth of the world.


	2. Chapter 2

Astrid took the familiar pathway that would lead her down to the shores of Berk. It was a winding path that took her far from the hustle and bustle of the village, shadowed by tall evergreens covered in snow all year round. Her thick yak hide boots had carved a visible trail through the vegetation, what few stubborn foliage that attempted to overtake her path were quickly crushed beneath her relentless heels during her early evening ritual.

The young female warrior made it a habit to take a stroll along the coast of her island home just before the sun began to set when all her chores and training for the day was completed. It was one of the few peaceful moments she would have to herself, a time when she was not bothered by her duty as a warrior, daughter, or as of late, that of a woman.

The only daughter of house Hofferson had blossomed from a rough tomboyish young girl who could be kindly described as pretty, into a beautiful deadly young woman that turned heads no matter where she walked. Somehow, despite how isolated their remote village was, her reputation as the most beautiful woman in all the winter cursed northlands had spread.

It bothered her somewhat that people saw in her the beauty before the warrior. She wanted to be known as Astrid the Fierce, not Astrid the Snow Maiden. One name she earned through determination and bravery, the other simply for being born the way she was. No one who knew her dared utter her more recent nickname in her presence. The results were usually painful for the poor fool who did.

Having seen nineteen winters since she first entered the world, Astrid was well into marrying age, perhaps even pushing towards the later end of it. Suitors from as far away as the Corinthes Islands, almost a month's journey by sea, had come to ask for her hand in marriage. She had politely turned them all away, careful not to insult anyone in a way that might start a feud despite her personal feelings on the matter. Berk could not afford a war with their neighbors on top of the dragon raids.

Truth be told, Astrid had no aspirations to marry and become a mother. In her mind, she was a warrior first and all else second. She had aspired to be a shield maiden, one of those few female warriors that foresworn men and family in order to continue their role as a defender of their homes.

Though she had told her parents this, she knew that in the end the choice may not ultimately be up to her. The Hofferson family had never been well off, holding only enough wealth to continue living day to day with little problem if their meals were supplemented with a skilled hand at the bow.

Unfortunately, the constant dragon raids had drained their coffers of what little reserves they had in order to keep up with the constant repairs to their ancestral home. A man would pay a king's ransom in dowry for Astrid's hand in marriage. That money could turn the Hofferson family fortunes around if a deal was struck.

Her parents had held off on making any hasty decisions, but once her twentieth winter were to pass, she would no longer be seen as desirable, a woman who was beginning to pass her fertile prime. A man would pay premium price for her now, and with two younger brothers, an aging father and no other living relatives, Astrid's fate was out of her own hands.

She hated the thought, but could not deny that she could save her family from starvation and poverty. From the hints that her parents had been dropping of late, the path of the shield maiden may be closed to her quite soon.

Tired feet traced down the familiar path she walked every evening, close enough to the tide to taste misty spray in the air, but never so close that her feet might get wet. A part of her cursed the fates at having given her a warrior's soul but a woman's body. If she had only been born a man…

No point griping about what was out of her control. Astrid was never one to lie to herself when the truth was staring her in the face. Her family was suffering, whatever her desires may be, she had her duty to kin first.

The northern lands were harsh, and few ever lived a life that they dreamed. She should be thankful she got to live as she did for as long as she had. Ruffnut had been paired off with one of the village boys the minute she entered her sixteenth summer and was the mother to a pair of sons with a third child on the way.

Soon enough Astrid would be bundled off to the highest bidder, just as Ruffnut had been, sent away to live with a stranger and tend to his home and hearth. No doubt he would expect her to hang up her sword and stay at home to take care of the children. The very thought rankled at her pride. Astrid could feel the sensation of her skin crawling uncomfortably at the thought of performing a wife's duty. She had never been with a man before, having found no one suitable to her tastes on Berk, but having never chosen for herself it seems she may never get to choose.

Her body moved on its own accord while her mind was occupied, eyes unseeing as she followed her routine path, feet knowing where to step to avoid hidden stones or snares from the roots of nearby trees. It was with a start that she finally realized that something was out of place, although it took a moment of concentration for her to pinpoint what was off.

The gentle lapping of the ocean waves running ashore her ears were accustomed to hearing did not have the same rhythmic pulse as it did every other evening. The soft hiss of water over gritty sand was interrupted by the periodic splash of waves being broken against some stubborn object standing defiant against the unending nature of the sea.

Blinking back her distraction, Astrid took in her surroundings and spotted what had disrupted the normal music of the ocean. Lying face down in the beach at a distance was the unmistakable form of a person.

Cursing herself for being inattentive, Astrid rushed over to the prone man's side. His skin was cold and clammy from the ocean spray, and he was of a deathly pallor. The tan hides he was swathed in were soaked through, the brown leather looking worn and decayed despite the way the metal studs shined.

Turning him on his side, she pressed her ear against his chest. Hearing nothing, she growled in frustration and tore at his leather tunic until she found skin. Though he looked close to departing from the land of the living, the strong steady thud of his heart in her ear attested otherwise.

Seeing no rise and fall of breath, Astrid knew that the man most likely had swallowed sea water into his lungs. While she had never sailed far, she knew enough of what to do when a man was fished out of the ocean after having fallen overboard and wasn't breathing.

Placing both hands on the center of his chest, she pressed down hard as she could, noting that despite his size the muscles of his body were rock hard. Water bubbled from his blue tinted lips, but his breath did not start. Pushing harder, she watched as more sea water mixed with spittle come rushing forth in a frothing spew.

"The sea did not claim you stranger, let not your life end when you have finally found the shore," growled Astrid as she continued her ministrations.

Her compressions of his chest continued until no more water came forth, but still his breath did not come. Tears stung her eyes as she looked at the stranger's lifeless form, a hard lump forming in her throat. She scrubbed violently at her eyes, wondering why the death of this unknown man affected her so.

Astrid had not cried when her comrades had fallen; shed no tears when her own brother fell to the snapping jaws of a dragon. So why? Why did this strange foreign man who had probably been dead before she reached him affect her so? Swallowing the rush of feelings, she glared down at the unmoving man's body.

"Live damn you!" she cursed and slammed her fists against his chest violently, feeling the crack of bone giving way under her fierce blow. Raising her hands in a joined fist, the young woman brought them down against his chest like a hammer blow from Thor himself.

A violent cough rewarded her final desperate efforts and an explosion of water mixed with bright red blood burst forth as the man heaved his first breath forcefully. Astrid turned him slightly to his side and cradled his head to ease his suffering as his lungs desperately sought for air it had been denied for so long.

"Easy stranger," she murmured as she rubbed his shaking back as soothingly as she could, ignoring his retching. "It's alright. You're safe now."

When he finally turned to look at her, she found herself trapped by the most peculiar set of green eyes she had ever seen. Blue or dark brown was the only two colors she had ever seen in the eyes of her fellow villagers and arriving foreigners. The shade of jade staring back at her seemed to glow with an inner light that stole her breath away.

The man reached out a hand and cupped the side of her cheek with weak shaking fingers, a small tired smile working its way across his cracked lips, broken and chapped by salt water. The freezing touch of his skin sent a shiver down Astrid's spine, but she did not move from her position knelt beside him.

"A Valkyrie," he rumbled hoarsely in confused wonder, his heavy dialect sounding at once both foreign and familiar to her ears. "So I have made it to the shores of Sovngarde at last."

With that said, his eyes closed and his hand fell from her cheeks, contented smile still on his lips.

As she stared down in shock at the stranger before her, Astrid felt her cheeks warm with the flush of embarrassment. Many a men had complimented Astrid by comparing her to the mythical warrior women of Valhalla, all in attempts to woo her into their beds. It had never meant anything to her because she had seen through their honeyed words.

But this stranger who had no doubt lost all hope at sea truly believed he had died and made it to the shores of his ancestors, mistakenly taking her for one of the legendary female warriors of incomparable beauty here to welcome him into the halls of the afterlife. The honest wonderment in his voice had touched something deep inside her that she had never felt before.

"Another fool of a man," Astrid whispered softly as she continued to cradle his head, running a hand absentmindedly though salt crusted hair. "Stay strong stranger, I know not what ordeals you survived at sea, but here in the Isle of Berk, there be dragons. Those reptilian bastards have no forgiveness for fools."


	3. Chapter 3

Astrid slowly chewed at the roasted mutton flesh in silence as she sat in the town mead hall with her friends, listening to them speculate about the man she had found on the shores a fortnight ago. The village of Berk was abuzz with conversation about the stranger that had survived the perils of being set adrift at sea with no ship. Hands lost at sea were not all that uncommon, and rare were the lucky few who managed to live to tell the tale. The old healer had taken the lad to her home for care, claiming with one look that he would live despite his deathly appearance.

"Aint much to look at is he?" commented Snotlout with a disdainful sniff as he tore at the hunk of dry bread in his meaty hand. "Man doesn't look like he got the brawn it would take to fight a dragon."

The prideful son of Jorgenson was one of Astrid's most avid suitors, having pursued her affections since childhood. Despite her every attempts to turn him away, Snotlout displayed the typical Viking stubbornness of never giving up once set on a course. The only thing that shielded her from most his advances was the fact that despite his size she could still lay him flat out until the next season when it came down to a contest of martial strength.

"Well not everything in life is about dragon slaying," scoffed Ruffnut. "Guy doesn't look like he's from these parts, not surprising he doesn't look up to killing one of the overgrown lizards."

The blonde woman was seated next to her twin, both of them nursing a second mug of frothing mead. It was one of the rare nights Ruffnut was not home taking care of her boys, but every once in a while, she could still be found in the mead hall. Though prone to fighting and bickering with each other, the twins seemed almost capable of reading each other's thoughts on the battlefield, their footwork and blade strikes complementing one another without a single spoken word. Their flow was eerie to behold, supernatural almost, a silent gift only twins could understand. Be they dragon or men, none ever managed to get the best of them when they were fighting together, not even Astrid who was considered the best warrior of their generation.

At least that had been the case before Ruffnut had become a mother. It had been nearly three years since the twins had fought back to back, and Tuffnut had the scars on his body to show where his sister had once stood guard. He did not begrudge her being a mother, but it had taken some getting used to fighting without his twin.

"Ai, but here he'd better learn fast or he's dead," chuckled Tuffnut with a wry grin. "Right Fishlegs?"

The portly Viking had kept himself out of the conversation, mainly because he had his head buried in a book detailing facts on the known species of dragons that plagued their island. Despite his girth and mediocre skill with a blade, Fishleg's unmatched knowledge of their draconian enemies made him an indispensable strategic advantage when fighting against the cold blooded invaders. More than one Viking in the village owed their lives to the chubby scholar due to some well-timed advice in the heat of battle. Outside the battlefield, his unusual intellect allowed him to craft solutions to problems others would have simply accepted as a part of life, earning him the title of village architect.

"Why'd you bother saving him Astrid?" asked Snotlout. "Should have just taken the gold and pushed him back to sea."

Astrid frowned at the callous remark from her comrade. She had dragged the stranger's unconscious body back to the village before handing him off to the healer amidst the crowd of citizens who had formed up out of curiosity at her find. She had not taken the time to inspect him, having assumed the torn clothing was all he had on his person, but the healer had discovered a pouch of gold that had somehow stayed on his belt despite his harrowing journey at sea.

Gold was rare this far north, silver being the more common form of currency. Even the meager amount of coin the stranger had could have easily bought him a flock of sheep or a new home with change to spare. Which raised the question of just who the mysterious stranger was. Wealth this far North was generally measured in resources rather than actual currency, for someone to so casually carry that much on their person was unheard of.

"I'm a warrior not a thief," she snapped at the Jorgenson boy causing him to involuntarily flinch back. "Even had I found it first, it was his property and I would not take what is not mine."

"Just saying," mumbled the boy with a shrug. "Might have solved your problem."

Astrid turned and scowled at table. Indeed, despite what she said aloud, a small spiteful voice in her head couldn't help but note that had she discovered the gold first perhaps she might have changed her parents mind about marrying her off. The only cost was her honor.

Shaking off the treacherous and dishonorable thoughts, the blonde warrior woman deepened her scowl. It was unbecoming of a warrior to consider stealing from another despite what personal gains there may be to be had. She must be truly desperate for entertaining the notion for even one moment.

"Heh, Snotlout putting his foot in his mouth again," chortled Tuffnut, raising his mug in mocking toast to his friend. "The more things change, the more they stay the same. Am I right?"

The other boy rolled his eye and made a rude gesture with his hand. "Hey Tuff, why don't you kiss my-"

"DRAGONS!" came the panicked shriek from outside.

Immediately all jest and levity fled the hall as men and women scrambled to their feet with weapons in hand. The town bell began to ring, the haunting echo causing a pit of dread to form in every person's stomach. No battle had ever been fought without losses, the question was how many they would bury this time. Astrid shouldered her way towards the door, battle axe at the ready as her ears picked up the first roars of the lizards coming in for another raid. There were three things one could count on living in Berk, everyone died eventually, winter was colder than the Realm of Hel herself, and dragons will almost always strike at night.

The darkness outside was dully illuminated by the glowing fires of a nearby building that had been set ablaze from the flames from the bellies of the terrible beasts attacking the village. Astrid charged over at the first dragon in her sight, a blue spiny creature the dragon manual labeled as a Spiny Nadder. The beasts were quite were quite a common sight during raids, coming in all manner of colors and sizes. The only characteristic that remained consistent were the dark thorny spikes running all across the tail and up the back, protruding spines that could grow to the length of a man's forearm. Even brushing up against the creature could prove fatal.

The ferocious beast was pursuing the family dog of the Handers family, the canine yapping away angrily as it danced back and forth between the snapping jaws of the massive lizard. The reptile stood nearly half again as tall as Astrid, the girth of its body large enough to overshadow a war catapult that would require a quartet of strong horses to move. It's dark green hide was peppered with old scars, the marks of a dozen weapons crisscrossed the dragon's body in pattern that was almost beautiful to behold.

Shouting a war cry, Astrid hurled herself into battle, slamming the side of her beloved axe against the olive dragon's body, tearing a crimson gash into its side. The blow which could have fallen a small sapling had mostly been deflected by the dragon's naturally armored hide.

Dragons were tough opponents, it took great effort and patience to penetrate the skin of the large reptiles, only a handful of weak spots could be exploited and every species had a different weakness. For every species of dragons there seemed to be a dozen subspecies each with their own peculiar traits that made them uniquely deadly. Knowledge was almost as important as arm strength when it came to fighting dragons, any warrior lacking either traits would not last long against Berk's hated reptilian foes.

Swiping her weapon at the winged animal that had turned its attention away from the dog, Astrid skillfully kept its massive jaws at bay with well timed thrusts and parries. She knew intimately what would happen if she got caught between its razor sharp teeth, her older brother had suffered that unfortunate fate.

Razor sharp claws from the monster's front legs swiped at her, but she rolled with each blow, avoiding being eviscerated by a hairs breath each time. The dragon bellowed its frustrations at her, malevolent eyes keenly following her movements. Astrid shivered as she circled her enemy. Those cold reptilian eyes held far too much intelligence for her comfort, the soulless gaze seemingly penetrating her to the core of her being.

Swallowing her fear, Astrid lunged forward with a shout. Swinging her axe overhead in a two hand grip, she went for a stunning blow to the head of the dragon so that she could slow its movements long enough to expose its weak spot. Spiny Nadder's had a unprotected part below the jaw right where the neck joined with its head, it was why the creature instinctively kept its head tucked in. If Astrid could work her blade into that spot, she'd be able to bleed the creature out.

Her wily foe twisted its serpentine neck to one side, so that her cleaving stroke missed. The flicker of movement to the side warned her of the impending tail strike coming and Astrid managed to shift her body enough to avoid being impaled on the spiny spikes at the end of its tail that gave the dragon its namesake. The whip strike of the meaty tail still sent her sprawling backwards with bruised ribs despite her armor.

As the warrior scrambled to regain her feet, her draconian foe charged forward, a hellish blur of teeth and claws.

Just before it could reach her, a dark form slammed into the side of the creature's body, sending the dragon stumbling sideways.

Stoik the Vast was a giant of a man, built wide like a mountain and nearly as stubborn and unmovable as the indomitable structure he was often compared to. Armed in one hand with a mace that could turn a man's head to pulp and a shield in the other, the Chief of Berk was still acknowledged as the best warrior in the village despite the age that was beginning to show in the gray that had begun to creep into his fiery beard.

"Astrid!" bellowed her Chief as he smashed his shield against the dragon's jaw sending tooth splinters flying with his crushing blow. "Get up to the Healer's home! The blasted dragons are trying to set it alight! We can't lose the healing herbs stored there or the wounded will never survive this winter!"

A jolt of fear shot down Astrid's spine at the thought. Many a warrior would not survive the wounds of battle were it not for the healer's expert knowledge of the local herbs in tending to infection and other maladies caused by injuries. With winter fast approaching, what little healing floras that could be found were collected and stored to prepare for the cold months when the plants would not be available. If they were to lose the stock the healer had stored in her home, the dragon raids this coming season would see many dead.

Charging up the hill, Astrid hollered for the attention of her childhood comrades. Only Snoutlout and Fishlegs managed to follow her, the twins were too busy entangled with a two headed beast that was unleashing noxious fumes from its gaping maws. The familiar scene almost brought a smile to her face. Some things never changed.

"Where the hell are we going?!" demanded Snotlout angrily, the adrenaline in his body turning his temper as hot as his blood. "The battle's that way!"

"The healer's home is alight! We need to save the damn healing herbs!" she panted, her ribs burning a searing flame into her side. The injury may have gone deeper than she first suspected.

Both men running besides her paled at the mention of losing the healer's medicinal plants. They both immediately increased their pace without another word, leaving Astrid's puffing form behind as they rushed towards their target. Cursing her own weakness, the female warrior pushed on after her comrades despite the burning pain that was building in her side with each step taken. The rush of battle often masked any pains the body suffered until after the fighting was over. Pain that could penetrate the fog of battle lust was not a good sign.

By the time Astrid caught up to the boys at the healer's home, they were already entangled in battle, a massive Monstrous Nightmare snapping away at them as they ducked and rolled about trying to find weakness in the massive beast's nearly impenetrable hide.

"Astrid!" shouted Fishlegs as he stumbled to one side to avoid being crushed by a massive leg. "There's another one around the corner! It's burning up the building! Kill it!"

Racing around the two men grimly trying to hold out against the fire breathing monstrosity, she ducked a wild swing of the massive creature's tail and finally reached the home of the healer. Unlike many of the architecture in Berk, the healer's home forwent as much flammable material as possible, substituting stone wherever it could. While hard to burn, it was also expensive to build. Yet despite it being relatively flame retardant, the material within the home itself was still quite flammable.

Howling a war cry to catch the attention of the snarling dragon breathing flames at the side of the smoking house, Astrid threw her axe with a single heaving motion that caused her ribs to protest in a most painful manner.

The weapon tumbled end over end, smashing unerringly into the side of the fire breathing lizards head, causing it to stumble backwards from the spectacular blow. The trampled form of a fallen warrior appeared briefly between the dragon's clawed feet and Astrid could feel the helpless rage burning in her bosom. Another warrior fallen to these beasts, never to return home. For a brief moment her anger managed to dull any pain she felt from her injury.

Weaponless, Astrid charged the dragon, scooping up the fallen man's sword and shield in one deft motion. A gust of hot crimson flames burst forth from the creature's mouth, but she batted it aside with her shield arm, wincing at the heat that bled through. Shields were generally treated with flame retardant material, but enough blasts of fire would melt even that thickest coating away.

Snarling ferociously, the beast that she couldn't quite identify lunged forward, jaws snapping with enough force to snap limbs. Astrid feinted, smashed the shield against the side of the beast's head as it missed a lunge and swiped her sword across its belly to no avail. The blade left what could barely be called a scratch on the dragon's tough hide.

The dragon reared back with a look of what might have been contempt on a human, almost as if it couldn't believe the puny human before it was still trying to fight.

Astrid swore as the dragon stomped towards her. She had to to draw it away from the house. The children with the buckets of water would not be able to get close to battle the flames until the danger had passed. If Astrid didn't hurry, there would be nothing left in the home to save.

Banging her sword against her shield, she yelled and made as much noise as possible as she circled away from the home, hoping the dragon would follow.

Luckily, it did.

Jaws snapped forward at lightning fast speeds, darting in this way and that. Each time she bashed her shield against the creature's horn spiked head, sending it reeling backwards. The ache in her side had grown from being an annoying stab to a crippling fire that was making raising her sword arm difficult. Twice she had been in a position to a make a killing strike and both times her body had betrayed her.

The screaming pain of her ribs was becoming neigh unbearable, sapping what was left of her strength with each passing moment. In contrast, the dragon seemed to grow bolder with each snap of its teeth filled maw, as if it could sense the killing blow just outside of its reach.

Finally, a timed lunge from the dragon proved too much for Astrid and she fell backwards with a cry, weapon falling from nerveless grip. She scrambled backwards, shield raised as she watched the dragon stalk forward, a dark murderous gleam in its beady reptilian eyes.

Snaking her hand into her boot where she kept the wicked curved knife her brother had given to her as a gift for having completed dragon training, Astrid lowered her shield, knowing she had only one chance at this.

"Come on then," she snarled defiantly as she left herself open. "You stupid overgrown piece of sh-!"

The strike came almost too fast for her to react. Years of ingrained training instincts saved her life. Her arm moved without her mind commanding, the shield lodged itself between the crushing jaws of her foe before she even registered the motion. Astrid could feel the creak of bone in her arm as the armored gauntlet and damaged shield gave way under the sheer power of the dragon's bite.

Snatching up the tiny dagger, she jammed the blade ruthlessly into the creature's eye, digging and twisting the little weapon with as much strength as she could muster. Relishing in the monster's howls of pain, she felt herself lifted off the ground as it thrashed its head about in anguish. Hurled bodily to the side, she landed with a moan of pain as her injured side took the force of her fall.

Turning over to her stomach, she spotted her abandoned axe which had fallen next to the doorsteps of the healer's home. Knowing it was her only chance, Astrid belly crawled towards her weapon, each movement sending a bolt of pain through her body unlike anything she had experienced before.

She persevered through the agony, pushed on by the furious tormented roars of her foe. Astrid knew she was probably a dead woman either way, but by Odin's mangy beard she would go down swinging! Finally, after crawling for an eternity over what felt like Hel's realm, her fingers grasped her prize. Eyes blurred by pain, she pulled at the weapon, surprised when it would not budge.

Blinking stupidly at the worn boot stepping on the shaft of her axe, she followed the shape of the leg up towards the man who had her weapon trapped underneath his heel. A pair of gentle green eyes met hers, the bemusement in them clear. It was the man she had found on the shore.

"I think it best if you were to stay down M'lady," he said gently in that strange lilting accent of his. "I've got this one."

Astrid relaxed her grip on her favorite weapon, watching as the stranger flipped it up with an expert flick of his foot and snatching it out of the air without hesitation. Green eyes narrowed dangerously as it glared out at the foe before him, the axe in his hand flickering and weaving deftly as he tested it for balance and striking distance.

A deafening roar of challenge issued from the partially blinded dragon somewhere behind Astrid. The stranger answered with a hair rising battle cry of his own, the unfamiliar war cry almost inhuman in its ferocity.

"Oblivion **TAKE YOU!** "

Astrid closed her eyes, numb to the world as the pain took her from the realms of consciousness. The last thing she heard before darkness claimed her was a distant echoing cry like thunder and the pained shrieks of the dragon as man and beast collided in mortal combat.


	4. Chapter 4

Astrid watched from afar as the man she saved worked away at the forge. Jarel the Wanderer, a clanless man who had journeyed to sea for reasons he kept to himself. The female warrior was still recovering from her tangle with the Natter, ordered by the healer to take no strenuous exercise or movements for at least the rest of the month to give her fractured ribs time to mend.

She hated feeling so useless, refusing to stay in bed despite her parents' pleas. The minute she could roll to her feet without spitting blood she was out on the streets again, determined to help where she could. Only when Chief Stoick himself had put his foot down had she finally succumbed to defeat and allowed herself to rest.

Still, she refused to be stuck indoors all day and had spent the week since the dragon raid watching the village repair itself. It was a scene she was familiar with. Burnt down buildings had to be cleared and rebuilt. Bodies had to be moved and buried.

Most the time she would be out there instead of sitting on the sidelines, but as she was now she'd be more a hindrance than help. The only difference to the picture this time was the addition of the unfamiliar stranger that had caused such disruption to their life on the little island of Berk.

Most the villagers gave the man a wide berth despite the Chief allowing Jarel to stay on the island until a time he could barter passage off. Witchcraft came the whispers from those who had witnessed what he had done. Astrid had been unconscious by the time Jarel had joined the fray, but from the words of those who had witnessed, the man had a strange and unnatural power that had allowed him to kill more of the devils that had raided their village than all of their warriors combined!

Astrid would have scoffed at the claims had she not seen the piles of dead dragon bodies being studied by Fishlegs. It was an astounding number slain, more than any amount she had ever seen at one time. While the Vikings always manage to drive off their draconian foes and claim victory, for the most part the dragons fled with injuries. Rare few could claim the honor of slaying a dragon in combat, let alone single combat. It was a surprise if more than three or four of the fire breathing lizards were laid low in one battle.

But by most count, Jarel had slain a dozen by himself. Armed with only her axe and the clothes on his back, he had charged fearlessly into the melee, taking down dragon after dragon. Shouting with a voice like thunder, he had displayed abilities most unnatural which had given him the edge against their reptilian foes.

Astrid had listened to the low whispers of gossiping villagers as they worked. Someone said they saw him send a dragon stumbling onto its back with but a shout, the yell so powerful the force of it was visible to the eye. Another claimed he had glowed with an eerie green light, his movement becoming so swift that he made a dozen cuts across a dragon's body in the time it took a man to blink. Still another said she had seen him turn ghost like, his form immaterial and untouchable despite the jaws that should have crushed his head. Hell, Fishlegs swore up and down that he saw the man breathe fire!

Despite what they might have felt about his unnatural abilities, no one denied his prowess with the blade. Every dragon he laid low had been cut down by Astrid's axe; powers or not it took courage to stand in front of the snapping jaws of a dragon and for that he had earned the respect of the village.

A part of her was elated that the stranger had managed to kill so many of their nemesis, with her weapon no less! But there was also the warrior whose pride was wounded by not only having to be saved, but having her weapon used to slay more of their foes in one battle than she had ever fallen her whole life.

And then there was the weapon itself, blade shattered against the skull of a particularly stubborn monstrous nightmare. He had returned the blade to her parents while she had been unconscious and now her favorite weapon lay in tattered pieces up in her room.

The steady rise and fall of the hammer in Jarel's hand doubled the din that came from the forge after a dragon raid. Perhaps the only reason Stoick had allowed Jarel to stay despite the unease some felt at his presence was his skill as a smith. Gobber had taken on a few apprentices over the years, but few had the aptitude or patience to take over the role of the aging village smith, preferring to battle with weapons rather than make them. The one who did show promise had fallen in battle long before he could even become a man, and since then the one armed and one legged Viking had not tried to find another.

Knowing that the village wasn't going to repair itself, Gobber had grudgingly shared his forge with Jarel who claimed he had some talent at smithing. The skill and knowledge the younger man brought with him had swiftly changed Gobber's stance on the boy. Replacement parts were churned out at a rapid rate, and often of a quality superior to what had been produced before. At least according to Gobber anyways, Astrid couldn't tell the difference if one wagon spoke was more well-crafted than another.

"Not a bad view huh?"

The suggestive question interrupted Astrid's train of thought, bringing the injured girl back to the real world. Turning, she caught the sly look Ruffnut was shooting her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied firmly, knowing that it probably wasn't going to stop the female half of the twins.

"Just saying," snickered the girl as she took a seat on the bench besides Astrid. "Snotlout can talk his face blue about how Jarel's not Viking enough, but most the girls think differently. Didn't know your stomach could have muscles."

Ruffnut shot the shirtless Jarel a long admiring look. Most Viking men tended to be tall and burly, wide at the shoulders and fleshy at the stomach. A well fed man was a wealthy man in the cold wintery lands they lived in, but Jarel seemed to be the very antithesis of their standards of manliness.

He was shorter than most men, just slightly taller than Astrid herself, his frame compact and not a layer of fat to be seen. That said, his muscles were of a definition and quality of the likes neither of the girls seen. Thick cords of tight flesh seemed to bulge and tighten like coiled rope with each movement, his chest shaped as if carved from marble itself. He had power in his body, Astrid had seen him move and lift things as easily as a man twice his girth and weight could, and he never seemed to tire no matter how much he moved.

And his stomach. It was simply fascinating to look at, Astrid had never seen anything like it. The closes she could compare it to was her own, a smooth flat surface that bore little fat. His was a rivet of muscles bunched together like a spring, the groves of each valley creating an interesting pattern that caught the eye.

"Mmm," murmured Ruffnut dreamily. "I wonder what they feel like."

Astrid flushed and punched her friend in the shoulder, wincing at the dull throb that lanced through her side at the reflexive motion.

"You're married!" she exclaimed, scandalized.

"So?" demanded the twin defensively. "Not like I can't look. You're telling me the thought hasn't crossed your mind?"

"No it has not," Astrid lied. "Shouldn't you be helping out somewhere?"

Her longtime friend stuck her tongue out at her, but got to her feet nonetheless. No Viking liked to be idle for long, the lazy did not survive the harsh winter covered lands of Berk.

"I'll leave you to your Jarel watching then," snickered the older girl as she sauntered away.

Astrid fought down the heat that came to her cheeks. She was not Jarel watching! She was just observing him because she was curious about that unusual ability he had agreed not to use outside of battle as the condition for his temporary stay at Berk.

Whatever he had been hammering, apparently he had finished while she had been distracted by Ruffnut. Currently he was mopping the sweat from his brow, taking a short break from his work. Astrid had turned just in time to meet his startlingly green eyes from across the pathway. The pit of heat that was building in her stomach was not so easily chased off as Ruffnut.

Jarel gave her a friendly wave, which she hesitantly returned. When he continued waving at her, Astrid realized he was beckoning her over. What could he possibly want with her?

Curious, she made her way over to the forge at a sedentary pace, careful to keep from jostling her ribs. Each step sent a little jolt of protest from her side, but it was nothing she couldn't ignore. Hopefully with a few more days of rest she would no longer feel like a lamed lamb.

The heat from the forge was a warm welcome to the icy bite of coming winter. It was no wonder Jarel removed his tunic, it was sweltering in there!

"I did not get the chance to introduce myself milady. I understand that Jarel the Wanderer has you to thank for still being in the world of the living."

That strange accent he spoke Norse with sounded as if he had a stiff tongue, the words coming out oddly drawn out. She'd have thought him poorly educated had she not seen him scratching out numbers and arguing with Fishleg over a parchment they could often be seen bent over during the dinner hours. It was oddly fascinating to listen to.

"I did what anyone might have done," she said, meeting his gaze so that her eyes wouldn't wander to other parts of his body. "I don't think we've actually been introduced, Astrid of clan Hofferson."

Taking her offered handshake, Jarel turned her palm sideways and bent down at the waist to brush his lips gently against the back of her hand, sending a jolt of electricity crawling across her skin.

"The pleasure is all mine Lady Hofferson."

Flushing slightly at the odd gesture he had made, she snatched her hand back as if she had put it near flames. The amusement in his green eyes sent a jolt of anger through her body, but the tingle of his lips on her finger halted her from verbally expressing it.

"Ah, before I forget, I have something for you Lady Hofferson."

Curiosity eased her temper as she watched him rummage through the piles of replacement items and weapons he had been working on. She stifled an unladylike laugh as she listened to the creative curses coming from his mouth as he dug into the pile.

Giving a triumphant grunt, he removed a leather wrapped bundle from the parts of half-finished metal contraptions before handing it to her.

"Go on," he said encouragingly when she examined the bundle she held. "Let it not be said that Jarel does not return what he borrows!"

Unbinding the leather twine holding it together, she could not help but gasp as the canvas fell away. The double headed steel axe was beautiful. Unlike her old weapon which had been steel only in the blade, the aft had been made of oak, this polished war axe had been forged in one motion.

The shaft of the weapon was riddled with a spiral ring like design to give it better grip, a cruel spike jutting out from the bottom and top of the shaft. The two headed blades gleamed with a shiny polish, thinner than her old weapon but all the more dangerous looking for it. Carefully etched in amazing detail on each side of the blade was the snarling visage of a vicious and lively dragon. Though a bit heavier than her older weapon, it was surprising how light it was in her hands considering it was forged entirely of steel.

It truly was a weapon fit for legends.

"A replacement and apology for breaking your weapon milady. I could tell it was a cared for and well loved by its mistress."

She weighed the axe considering in her hand, wondering if Jarel knew what it was he had just done. A man offering a woman a weapon was the first steps of courtship in Berk, the blade a show of interest in keeping her safe so that she might come and defend his hearth and home. If she accepted the gift, it came with all sorts of entangled implications if others found out.

Surely he was clueless as to their traditions? But damn if she didn't need a new replacement blade!

"Thank you Jarel. I will accept this blade as your apology, though I do ask that when I've healed you come and spar with me," she said, finally tearing her eyes away from the majestic war axe. "I hear tell you were quite skilled with my weapon in battle. I am considered one of the best, a test of my skills against yours would be most welcome."

Jarel gave an odd smile, showing more teeth than most would. In the glow of the firelight, his eyes seem to gleam with an unnatural light.

"Ai, that seems like a fair trade," he murmured softly.

The man took a step closer to Astrid, causing her to stiffen in alarm. He tilted his head to one side, sniffing the air before he reached out a hand to prod at her injured side, eliciting a slight wince from the female warrior.

"Your injuries have not healed," Jarel observed with a frown.

"A most astute observation," Astrid bit out through gritted teeth. "I will ask that you not do that again."

The stranger's eyes flickered back and forth, scanning the entryway. "I can aid in your recovery if you wish."

The woman felt her eyebrow climb upwards. "You claim to be a healer? That makes you a man of many talents."

Jarel chuckled wryly. "Hardly, my favorite priest would laugh till she wept if she heard someone call me a healer. But my journey has made me somewhat acquainted with the healing arts. I have little talent for it so I doubt I could mend you entirely, but I should be able to shorten your recovery."

Frowning in consideration, Astrid shot a look back over her shoulder. No one in sight.

"Has it to do with the witchcraft you used against the dragons?"

Surprise colored the man's features before turning again to amusement. Astrid found she liked how youthful it made his features. She wondered how old he was, the laugh lines in his face made him seem her age, but something in his eyes made him seem much older.

"Is that what they are calling it?" he asked with a hearty laugh. "If only those old men could hear what their sacred art is being called."

Astrid cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to answer her question. After a few more moments of mirth, he shook his head.

"No, it is similar to what I use in battle I suppose, but tis a skill any man can gain if they were to have the patience and will to learn it. Of course inborn talent makes the difference in whether you get any good at it as I discovered."

Now it was Jarel's turn to look at her questioningly, waiting for her response.

The warrior woman bit her lip, weighing the pros and cons of letting this odd man work his sorcery on her. The thought of magics coursing through her body made her nervous, what if something went wrong? On the other hand, Jarel had done nothing but help their people. Surely if he had ill intentions he would have revealed them by now.

"The Chief has asked you not to use your powers outside of battle," she replied with a frown. "You would risk exile from our village if it were to be known you had gone back against your word."

The foreigner shrugged. "True that is a risk, but one does not truly live until they have done something they are not supposed to."

Again Astrid shot a look over her shoulder to make sure no one was nearby. "Fine. What do I do?"

The warrior smith beckoned the woman to follow him. She trailed after him, walking into the back of the shop where he swept the only table clean of all the broken weapons part he had no doubt been commissioned to fix.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing at the table.

Astrid hopped onto the slab of wood, eyes following Jarel as he lit a lantern and brought it over to the table.

He gestured at her tunic. "That will need to come off."

"What?!" Astrid felt her face heat up. "That is hardly proper!"

Jarel shot her a lopsided grin. "Well I can hardly heal what I cannot see."

A war raged within Astrid. Common decency told her that she should not disrobe in front of a man who was not family or spouse, but on the other hand she really wanted to get back to work. If her chastity was the price to pay, to hell with common decency.

"I will end you if you tell anyone," she threatened with a glare that would have cowed a charging dragon.

Jarel made on odd gesture with his hand. "Let Talos be my witness, not even torture or threat of death will pry this from my lips."

"You are making fun of me," Astrid whined.

The foreigner laughed. "Nay milady, I do not jest when it comes to taking an oath before Talos. This will stay between you and I to the grave, you have my word."

She had heard the name Talos invoked before, but it was not a god worshipped by many people this far north. If the man was willing to swear by his deity, she would have to trust in divine punishment to still his tongue from wagging.

Steeling herself and not giving her mind more time to protest, she yanked the tunic over her head in one jerky motion, wincing as her injuries howled at the motion. Astrid was fairly certain her face was redder than a Nightmare's hind side at the moment. She could feel the heat from the lamp against her bare skin, the only thing covering her top being the poorly put together chest binding that she had struggled with in the morning due to her injuries.

She thought back to his words on doing something she wasn't supposed to. There was something oddly exciting about doing the forbidden, her body filled with nervous energy and tension as she bared herself to him. It was wrong on so many levels, but something inside her wanted to see where this would go.

Jarel knelt at her side, his long fingers gently running themselves against her ribs sending a pleasant shiver up her spine. Her side was an ugly purple streak that was smeared in the yellow balm the healer had given her. The herbal remedy reeked, but the man paid it no mind, clucking his tongue as he examined every inch of her.

"Not too bad," he hummed. "Just a fracture from the looks of it, though I suppose if it were any more serious you would not be able to walk about as you do."

"Can you do anything?" she asked quietly, avoiding his gave.

Astrid had never felt so mortified in her life. Stripped bare before a strange man, and all she could do was feel excited! She may as well take her lower stockings off and spread her legs for him like a whore. She could not be more ashamed of her reaction if she were to be paraded nude down the village square.

"Tis won't fully heal you, but I suspect you'll be good as new in a few days."

An odd warmth washed against her ribs, nothing like the flickering heat from the oil lamp. Despite her embarrassment, the young woman could not help but watch in fascination as Jarel worked his sorcery.

There had been no incantation, just an odd gesture with his hand and a look of concentration. A warm yellow light seemed to engulf his hand, pulsating like the Northern Lights that shined down from the heavens on a clear night. He pressed his palm against her side, his face screwed up in concentration.

Where his hand touched, the bruise lightened and slowly faded. Astrid could feel the dull ache of her ribs ebb away with each pulse of the light in his hand. She didn't know how long they stayed that way, Jarel kneeling while attending to her side while she watched.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the light from his hand faded away to nothing.

He stood with a groan, blowing out a breath that she had not realized he had been holding.

"Well that's about the best I can do," Jarel said. "I was always better at destroying than healing."

Astrid put her tunic back on, noting that the motion hardly caused her any discomfort at all. She watched as Jarel wiped the hand he had placed against her side with a filthy rag, no doubt to remove the residue of the healing herbal remedy smeared on her side.

"You did not try to look," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Astrid was hardly a vain woman, but she was also not unaware of how men viewed her. If she were to be truthful, a small part of her was a bit disappointed that Jarel had not even glanced at her sideways once while she had been partially disrobed.

Granted she would have gouged his eyes out if he did, but that didn't mean she wasn't a little upset that he didn't find her attractive enough to try to get away with it.

Jarel turned and looked at her in surprised before grinning boyishly down at her.

"My apologies, I was so distracted with tending to your wounds that I didn't take the time to admire your beauty lady Astrid. Perhaps you can slip the tunic off again for me?"

Astrid snatched a rag and threw it at the man's head. He made no movements to intercept the projectile, removing it from his face with an amused expression.

"Next time then milady, I promise to take a good long look."

Huffing at being made fun of, the fuming young woman stomped out of the smithy without another word leaving the foreigner to his laughter.

The cool air outside was a slight shock to her body after the warmth of the forge, and the contrast to her face alerted her to just how badly she must have been blushing.

Despite it all, she could not help but smile at the lightness of her steps. He was an odd man Jarel, but certainly she could not bring herself to dislike him.

"I'll pay him back tenfold when we spar," she muttered as she headed home.

For now, she would rest her body. With Jarel's aid Astrid Hofferson would be back in the thick of things in no time. Life had taken a strange turn on Berk, but maybe that wasn't a bad thing.


End file.
